Brutus burst into laughter as Dora finished describing her misadventures of her other night. "Did you get any sleep, at least?" he asked sincerely, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "You don't look too tired."

"We got enough." She and Juan had ended up drinking tea in the kitchen for a solid two hours, discussing everything from foreign news to their grandchildren. "Good thing we didn't have a meeting at eight."

"Even Raymond couldn't figure out a way to justify that," Drexel said. The thirteen of them were sitting in a small side room attached to a courtroom. Not their courtroom - that was a construction scene. Today, the Tribunal would be sworn in and the indictment - revealed. The morning newspapers had printed off juicy bits, the full document posted on their Web versions.

It was only ten in the morning, but already half the world was aware of what was in the indictment. Jack had called in, horrified - he had never heard of half the atrocities mentioned as having taken place in Ten. Neither had most people. Even the survivors of the most dreadful acts of mass violence had found something to be horrified about. Secret-prison survivors cried when reading about the abjectness of rural poverty, and vice versa.

The original plan had been for the trial to start in thirty days, but both prosecution and defense had complained about too much documentation to sift through, so it was looking like mid- or even late May would be the starting day. The discovery process would have less in common with a fair version of what Dora was used to and more - with simply sitting at the same pile of documents and going through them.

"I can't believe I'm actually wearing this," Rose said, running a hand down the black robe she was wearing. It was the young student's first time wearing one. By now, she was as knowledgeable in the law as a particularly hardworking second-year law-school student. "It feels strange."

Raymond nodded. "It's not your fault the law didn't apply to Twelve."

"I guess." Rose ran her hands down the smooth fabric again. "Still feels strange. Most of the people around me - they were so cynical about law enforcement. Still are. Maybe seeing me sit in judgement of one of the people who terrorized us will make them understand it's just a tool. Not something good or bad."

Raymond looked irritated - his own views on law tended towards the idealistic - but Dora agreed. Who was she talking about, though? It took Dora a few seconds to remember that Twelve had been absurdly small, a tiny almost-village of ten thousand compared to the tens of millions in Ten. Dora had never seen any of Ten's Head Peacekeepers, but Rose must have been as aware of Twelve's Heads as a small-town person in Ten knew the commander of their local garrison.

"Exactly," Rosa said quietly.

There was standing room only in the little room. Thanks to having arrived early, Thumeka had a good position close to the front, phone in hand, as the thirteen judges filed in.

Thumeka had gotten a glimpse or two of some of them before, but this was the first time they were all in the same room. The first who walked in was Raymond Sanchez, an older man who would have been unassuming if not for his posture and uniform. He looked dignified and intelligent. Thumeka typed without looking at the screen, wondering how someone could look intelligent. It was probably how his eyes travelled carefully around the room, taking in information.

Sanchez was officially representing District Thirteen, but rumour had it that a onetime defector had been chosen as a nod to the Capitol, so that technically, they were represented as well. The next judge's role was no less awkward. The destroyed District Twelve was being represented by a forty-year-old with little legal training - but then again, thanks to the indictment, everyone knew that the little town had been kept around exclusively in case another example needed to be made of someone. Thumeka marvelled at how much effort had been put into hiding the size disparity between it and the other Districts.

Once all of the judges were sitting, Thumeka took stock of what they looked like together. Appearance-wise, they were a very heterogeneous group, which was typical for Panem. Except for Rose Meadowcreek, they were all on the older side, in their fifties or sixties. They varied from lively to calm and attentive, except for Daniel Chatterjee, whose face was a void Thumeka didn't like looking at. Chatterjee seemed to be feeling no emotion whatsoever.

Of course, mental illness couldn't be held against him. If he had been picked over every other judge in Six, that meant he was qualified. Still, as Thumeka met his blank eyes, she wished he could have pretended, like she herself had done as a teenager. He risked having the newspapers write speculation about his mental state.

Sanchez raised a hand and everyone fell silent. The anticipation was palpable, but the entire proceedings were quite underwhelming. The Tribunal was sworn in, the judges promised to be impartial and professional and to apply the Charter of the Tribunal, and the indictment was presented. It was over in ten minutes. Thumeka grabbed a copy of the indictment and headed back to her overcrowded billet.

Stephen watched Tiller's eyes widen when she saw the stack of paper. It was piled up on the table and went above her head. "Is that the indictment, sir?" she asked him.

"It is. We'll be delivering them now." Finally, this endless limbo would end - for twenty-three of his charges, at least.

"Maybe now they'll stop complaining about being detained for no reason," Tiller said hopefully. That would also be very welcome. "Where's Slice?"

"She's being transported here today." Stephen looked expectantly at the door as footsteps sounded. "And I expect that's our psychologist."

The door opened, revealing a worn-out Dr. Aurelius. "My apologies," he said. "An appointment ran long." Even the purple marker on the doctor's hand was of no use when everyone else refused to stick to schedules.

"No worries, Doctor," Stephen said. "We've still got a few minutes."

Dr. Aurelius walked over to the table and began to flip through the document. "I'm glad I'll get to travel back to Thirteen to pick up Slice," he said after a pause. "I'll get to see my family - I haven't talked to my daughter for two weeks now!" Stephen wondered how someone could keep on forgetting to call their own child, especially since he was a psychologist. Wasn't he supposed to be the expert in how to parent?

"We should all talk to our families more often," Stephen said noncommittally. He checked his watch. It was hard to call his parents regularly when his own schedule was impossible. He'd need to find time today, or they'd worry about him missing the weekly call.

At that moment, two guards walked in. Salutes were exchanged. Stephen began to explain their task. "The indictment will now be delivered to the key criminals. You two - take half of the stack each."

Stephen took a deep breath and let it out. It would not do to mess up something as simple as this. Running through the plan in his mind, he led the procession out of his office.

The door opened and a small group of people walked in. Antonius stood up and moved against the wall to let them all in. Warden Vance, Deputy Warden Tiller, Dr. Aurelius, and two guards lugging massive stacks of paper barely fit into the small cell.

"Antonius Chaterhan?" Warden Vance asked in a cold voice.

"Yes."

"I am here to present you with the indictment."

At last. Shaw would say that better late than never, but Antonius was still angry that he had been held here for so long without having been notified of the charges against him. "When do I have to plead?" he asked, taking the thick document one of the guards offered.

"Not less than thirty days from now," Warden Vance said.

"That will be satisfactory," Antonius lied.

Dr. Aurelius stepped forward. "I will be back later this afternoon to get your impression of the indictment. If you could come up with a sentence or two and write it on my own copy, I would be very grateful."

"Very well, Doctor," Antonius said, casually tossing the stapled document onto his table. The size of it was intimidating, and his chest began to feel tight as he realized that this was it. On his table was lying the paper out of which the rope to hang him would be woven. "Is that it?" He turned around, letting his hands hang by his sides.

"That is all," Warden Vance said. The party departed, the door shutting with a clang, and Antonius could hear them walk towards the next door. Two eyes were observing him curiously through the slit in the door.

Antonius sank down on his chair and looked at the indictment for the first time.

INDICTMENT

INTER-DISTRICT MILITARY TRIBUNAL

PANEM

Against

PUBLIUS DOVEK, MENARES OLDSMITH, MARSIA BRIGHT, ALAN LUX, EREZA COTILLION, RHEA BLATT, SEPTIMIUS VERDANT, CAIUS BEST, JOHN KRECHET, CECELIA TALVIAN, ANTONIUS CHATERHAN, DONNA BLUES, QUINTUS LARK, ROMULUS THREAD, SIMON LEDGE, CHARLOTTE BRACK, PRIMA DIJKSTERHUIS, ALEXANDER POLLMAN, LIVONIA TOPLAK, DIANA KIRJI, CAROLUS LEE, THEODOSIUS COLL, AQUILA GRASS, IRMA SLICE

Defendants.

The Thirteen Districts of Panem by the undersigned, Amber Vargas, Isabella Jinwe, Jocelyn Mikaelis, Aoife Levron, Naquian Tyson, Goran Briscoe, Rowan Waschmann, Trevor Hall, Rakesh Kantaria, Andrea Webster, Robert Wu, and Mary Irons, duly appointed by the Inter-District Committee to represent Panem in the investigation of the charges against and prosecution of the key criminals of the former regime, hereby accuse as guilty, in the respects hereinafter set forth, of the implementation of the 'Hunger Games', war crimes, other crimes against humanity, crimes against peace, and of a common plan or conspiracy to commit those crimes, and accordingly name as defendants in this cause and as indicted on the counts hereinafter the above-mentioned individuals.

Antonius flipped to the next page. He wanted to skim through it first. One - conspiracy, utter nonsense. Two - the Hunger Games - at least made sense as a charge. Three and Four were war crimes and crimes against humanity. Shaw had explained them to him, so they likewise made some sense. Five, aggression, was completely absurd, and Shaw was in agreement. The only piece of evidence they had to back it up was a pact signed nearly a century ago that did not even apply to the situation.

There was an appendix with statements of individual responsibility. Antonius took a deep breath before finding his name on the page.

The defendant CHATERHAN was between 62 and 75 the CEO of the Steelworks conglomerate, between 69 and 75 the president of the Association of Panem Industry, and between 72 and 75 the head of the Metals department in the Ministry of Economics. The defendant CHATERHAN used his high positions and personal connections with the former president Coriolanus Snow to promote the total control of the conspirators over Panem set forth in Count One of the indictment; he participated in the implementation of the 'Hunger Games' set forth in Count Two of the indictment, including more particularly the usage of forced labourers who had been under Steelworks employ to build the Arenas; he authorized, oversaw, and participated in the war crimes set forth in Count Three of the indictment and the crimes against humanity set forth in Count Four of the indictment, and he participated in the furtherance of the aggressive war waged by the regime against the Districts as set forth in Count Five of the indictment.

Indicted on all counts, then. Antonius took another deep breath and exhaled. At least he knew what he was facing now. "I want to talk to my lawyer," he said to the guard.

"When?"

"Any time today should be fine," Antonius said, leaning against the flimsy back of the chair and setting the indictment on his crossed legs. "Also, could you please provide me with more paper? It is not urgent, but I do need to start preparing, now that I know the charges against me."

"Ask the warden when he comes around."

"I will." Antonius flipped to the individual statements of responsibility and quickly skimmed through the list. Out of idle curiosity, he noted in the margins who was being accused of what. Everyone was being charged with conspiracy, but when it came to the other charges, it varied.

DOVEK - 1,2,3,4,5

OLDSMITH - 1,2,3,4,5

BRIGHT - 1,3,4,5

LUX - 1,2,3,4,5

COTILLION - 1,2,4,5

BLATT - 1,2,3,4,5

VERDANT - 1,3,4,5

BEST - 1,3,4,5

KRECHET - 1,4

TALVIAN - 1,2,3,4,5

CHATERHAN - 1,2,3,4,5

BLUES - 1,2,4

LARK - 1,2,4

THREAD - 1,3,4,5

LEDGE - 1,2,3,4

BRACK - 1,2,4,5

DIJKSTERHUIS - 1,2,3,4,5

POLLMAN - 1,2,3,4,5

TOPLAK - 1,2,4

KIRJI - 1,2,4

LEE - 1,3,4

COLL - 1,2,3,4

GRASS - 1,4

SLICE - 1,4

Written out like that, the list had a surreal feel to it. Not only was this an absurd grouping - Antonius could not imagine a situation in which they could have been in the same room before - but the numbers did not fit at all. It resembled some sort of sign-up sheet, except that they had all been signed up against their will.

Antonius did a quick count. Sixteen charged on Count Two. Fifteen on Count Three. All on Count Four. Sixteen on Count Five. And eight were being indicted on all counts. Driven by his deep-seated boredom, he did a tally of what grouping of charges was the most common.

12345 8 - Dovek, Oldsmith, Lux, Blatt, Talvian, Chaterhan, Dijksterhuis, Pollman

1345 4 - Bright, Verdant, Best, Thread

124 4 - Blues, Lark, Toplak, Kirji

14 3 - Krechet, Grass, Slice

1245 2 - Cotillion, Brack

1234 2 - Ledge, Coll

134 1 - Lee

Was there a pattern there? Antonius double-checked that his numbers added up and made another tally of how many charges everyone had against them.

5 - Dovek, Oldsmith, Lux, Blatt, Talvian, Chaterhan, Dijksterhuis, Pollman

4 - Bright, Cotillion, Verdant, Best, Thread, Ledge, Brack, Coll

3 - Blues, Lark, Toplak, Kirji, Lee

2 - Krechet, Grass, Slice

Each group had its own strong and weak selections. It was absurd to include himself, Blatt, and Pollman in the same group as Dovek and Lux. And Krechet, Grass, and Slice had nothing in common with each other. There was, however, an internal logic - the 'all-rounders', for lack of a better term, were indicted on every count, but the narrower the specialization, the fewer the charges.

Nobody had been indicted on Count Three but not Count Four - that had to be a sign of something. Were they perhaps implying that war crimes were a subset of crimes against humanity? Antonius knew nothing about that except for what he had gotten from books.

The guard was looking at him curiously. As soon as Antonius got used to one humiliation, another one knocked him off balance. Yesterday in the shower, the young man had exclaimed 'Wow, Uncle, you look like a carpet!' and jokingly inquired if he had stolen Pollman's facial hair. The shower was quite possibly the only place where Antonius welcomed Warden Vance's presence, if only for the sake of not having to deal with boys young enough to be his sons commenting on his appearance. How was a man supposed to explain to a complete stranger that needing to shave daily since the age of twelve was an irritant, not something to be proud of?

Wishing for a clock and to forget about these questions, Antonius put down his pencil and turned towards the guard. "Please, what time is it?"

"Lunch will be soon."

If it was poorly cooked cornmeal again, he would complain. Antonius smiled politely and forced out a small laugh. "I suppose that is accurate enough for someone in my current situation." He wished he could be as witty as Dovek, but if the guard's chuckle was any indication, his nonexistent sense of humour was good enough.

Rye wasn't sure what she thought about how the indictment had been received. Everyone was abuzz, but it remained to be seen if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Rakesh was at a meeting with the other chief prosecutors, so Nine's team was gathered around the table with Anna Goldfield taking charge. They were in the basement of the house where the women were staying.

After a status report - Rye was spending her time at the Witness House and on the phone with her assistants in Nine who were looking for potential witnesses there - they got distracted talking about how their relatives had reacted to the indictment.

"My parents are freaking out," Torres said. The baby-faced prosecutor had taken to wearing his uniform in an attempt to be taken more seriously, but it was hard to be taken seriously when you were a metre fifty-five tall and with the face of a twelve-year-old. As it was, he looked like a child soldier. "They were always the do-you-want-another-Dark-Days type, so I suppose I'm glad they're coming around to realizing the revolution was necessary."

Among people of their class, such moods had been widespread. Before Billie had been born, she probably would have agreed with them. But after, the irrational terror of losing her children to the Games had made that impossible. Her parents had always reminded her that neither she nor they had ever known anyone Reaped, but that hadn't consoled her. Rye still had no idea what had caused that fear, but she was glad for it now, if it made her the kind of person who kept silent about a coworker's espionage.

"If this was another Dark Days, we should have had it sooner," Anna Goldfield quipped. "My parents always told me about the horrors they endured and about how much better life was now. I bet they're feeling stupid now. Not like they'll admit it to me. They're going on about how we need a strong leader to rebuild."

"Well, maybe if Thirteen hadn't hid out for three-quarters of a bloody century-" Perry began, before being cut off by Feng.

"And whose fault was it that Thirteen had to deliver letters as if they were the nuclear codes?" she fired back. "Seventy-five years of wondering if today was the day the government would catch them in the act and raze them to the ground, for real this time. Let's not go around assigning blame when we've got the real criminals to prosecute."

Smith nodded. He had defected as a teenager with his family, coming back after the liberation of Nine. "Did I tell you about how we could only go outside on a schedule? Half the District signed up to help with the harvest, if only to spend a day seeing the sun for more than an hour."

"This is completely irrelevant," Anna Goldfield broke in. "What I am interested in is your proposition." She said that to Rye, who nodded.

Inside a Peacekeeper archive in Nine, they had found a short recording taken during the famine of 31-32. Rye herself hadn't been born then, and her older siblings had been small children shielded by the well-off status of their family. For the villages, however, that famine had been a catastrophe. Entire regions had been depopulated when two harvests had failed in a row - the result of de-diversification and a heavy reliance on cash crops.

The film had been taken by two Peacekeepers poking around one such abandoned village. They had found two emaciated children barely clinging on to life by eating corpses. The film had been in a box labelled with two names - the Peacekeepers from the video, most likely. Both were dead by now, but Rye had been able to go through their files and narrow down the location of the village. She had then asked her assistants to find the two children from the film.

"It will take a while to find them, if they are alive," Rye said. "Most likely, we will call in someone else. I just thought it would be a very powerful move, to bring in a witness who could be backed up with such solid documentary evidence."

Anna Goldfield nodded. "I'm just worried they died, or have no recall of the events. Especially the younger one."

"We'll still have the film," her husband Husk Goldfield chimed in. "That's already an excellent find - though I must admit I don't see the point of showing something from back when the defendants were in elementary school. We're trying these specific conspirators, not giving the world a history lesson."

Rakesh, who had been asked by Irons to critique her opening statement twice now, claimed that the Chief of Counsel did seem to think the trial would involve a history lesson. Rye understood the logic - when dealing with an old gang, it was valuable to explain the older crimes, to show that the defendants had known what they were getting involved with. She did not think, however, that it was a good idea to focus so much on that instead of specific acts tied to specific defendants.

If the wide-ranging conspiracy charge was annoying, that was nothing compared to the one Nine's team had to focus on - that of aggressive war. Rye suspected that even Irons didn't quite understand what that one was about. McCollum's non-aggression pact with six other American countries, the de facto regime of occupation the Districts had been under, the firebombing of Twelve, and the unprovoked raids on Thirteen were all somehow being glued together into a single charge.

Fortunately, Thirteen's massive team was content to deal with that, leaving Rakesh in charge of prosecuting war crimes and crimes against humanity committed in Nine. And there was plenty to prosecute, with acts as egregious as the famine of 31-32 being found in the very immediate past as well.

"I wonder what they'll say in the evening news," Carver mused. "It seems that the Web has exploded."

Rye thought about Barrow and the kids. How would they react?

Miroslav stepped inside Dovek's cell. It wasn't exactly messy, and by no means was it dirty, but even the way the papers were lying on the table revealed a disregard for the administration's rules. The former minister had been sitting on his cot and reading a book. He looked up now, smiled, and gestured at the chair. "Good day, Dr. Aurelius."

"Have you read the indictment?" Miroslav sat down.

Dovek nodded absently. "Just what I expected. It's all a nice wrapping to package up their show trial. A trial of the vanquished by the victors cannot, by definition, be just."

"Could you write that down here?" Miroslav asked, holding out his copy of the indictment. Dovek quickly wrote down the last sentence on the back of the document and signed it with a flourish. "Thank you."

Dovek smiled sardonically and went back to his book.

Oldsmith was, as Miroslav had predicted, steaming with fury. "What is this shit?" he hissed, throwing the indictment on the floor. "We acted like any other government would have! How dare they blame us for things that happened before we were even born!" He took a deep breath, getting himself under control. "You're here to get my opinion?"

"Yes."

A grimace of fury flickered over Oldsmith's face. "My opinion?" He reached out and took it. Quickly, he scrawled something down. "Revolutions always devour their own children."

"A good phrase," Miroslav admitted unhappily.

When Miroslav entered Bright's cell, the former general was standing at attention, indictment in hand. "You can't think we were all involved with the atrocities," she pleaded. "How can we soldiers be accused of that?"

"That's what the trial is for," Miroslav said.

Bright snorted. "Don't feed me false platitudes. I know a rope is already being woven for me." She looked at the copy Miroslav proffered at her and took it, sitting down at her table. When she handed it back, the words 'This is a lie from the first word to the last' were scrawled on the back above her signature.

Lux looked like he had been crying. "This is so horrible," he said, sitting slumped on his cot. The thick document was lying next to him. "All this...I learned some things."

"Would you like me to come back once I'm done with this?" He'd have to go fly out to pick up Slice, but there would be some time. It was still mid-afternoon.

"Yes, thank you." Lux looked at him through red-rimmed eyes. "For what it's worth - I never knew of these atrocities." He started. "Oh, yes, you asked for a comment." He reached for a pen and quickly wrote something down. "I was never aware of the so-called crimes I am being accused of."

Similar sentiments, and yet so different.

After that, Miroslav went over to Cotillion. It was annoying to go back and forth across the corridor, but he subconsciously listed the key criminals in order of indictment and couldn't think of them in any other way.

Cotillion wordlessly took the indictment and wrote 'By what right am I being tried for having done my job in accordance with the law?' "This is all I have to say."

"I had nothing to do with any of this," Blatt begged Miroslav. "I was like a shopkeeper. Is a shopkeeper punished if a criminal buys a gun from them? No!"

Miroslav realized that she was shaking. "Do you need to talk to someone?" he suggested.

Blatt crumpled. "No." She began to write. "I had nothing to do with any of this," she said again. She handed to Miroslav the indictment. "I never even watched the Hunger Games."

That could have been true, but that was the least of Blatt's problems.

Verdant was practically shaking with fury. "I am from a working-class background!" he admitted for the first time, standing up and leaning heavily on his crutch. "How dare they accuse me of having been involved with workers' rights violations when I grew up seeing them every day! No offense, Doctor, but I know more than you about rural poverty and inaccessible healthcare!"

"I'm sure you do," Miroslav replied sympathetically. "Perhaps you would prefer to discuss this later?"

"Maybe this evening." Verdant took the indictment and sat down, writing. "It's wrong to accuse a District person of these sorts of things. It certainly won't help the stability of your IDC, to have Two lumped in with the Capitol."

Verdant was trickier than he let on, but Miroslav suspected he still didn't understand that the imaginary distinction between the Capitol and the Districts had been just that - imaginary - or, if one really wanted to go there, what the word 'collaborator' meant.

"What nonsense," were the first words out of Best's mouth. "Pure nonsense. I am being treated with less respect than the Rebellion leaders after the Dark Days. I am a soldier, not a butcher!" He glanced at the family photograph on his table. "I cannot believe it has come to this!"

Miroslav realized that so far, none of them had waited for him to speak. That was no surprise - they had never been the shy sort - but the vehemence with which they began to complain showed how off-kilter they had been knocked by this formal reminder of what was coming to them.

"I cannot believe it has come to this," Best sighed.

Krechet was crying openly when Miroslav walked in. "I was just an agent!" he said, wringing his hands. "I had a rank equivalent to that of corporal! Why am I on trial with ministers and generals? I wasn't even the head of my squad! How can I be guilty of crimes against humanity?" His accent was so thick, Miroslav found it hard to understand.

The answer to that question was 'very easily', but Miroslav had to remind himself that Krechet had been no ordinary secret-police operative, even if he was right that he had been a corporal. Krechet's handwriting was terrible, but Miroslav could decipher it by now. 'To indict someone of my rank sets a worrisome precedent. Is every NCO now liable for the orders they carry out - and is obedience now a capital crime?'

No, Krechet was not the thug he was commonly depicted as, no matter his background.

Talvian was sitting calmly, looking like a child of twelve in that oversized sweater. Instead of saying something, she simply took the indictment in her small hands and wrote out a lengthy sentence. "There are people with my former position in every country, and by putting me on trial, the new government will discredit its own internal security apparatus." Her voice was firm, and she said nothing after reading out her statement.

"This is an outrage," Chaterhan said, pacing around the room. "How can a businessperson be liable for having run a business? What will my foreign colleagues say?"

Miroslav contemplated sneaking him some communist newspapers, just to see his reaction, but quashed that unprofessional impulse.

There was an odd gleam in Blues' eyes that Miroslav didn't like as she wrote out her response. When Miroslav read it, he wasn't sure how to react. 'I see reason behind all of these accusations' - sincere admission of guilt? Cynical ploy? Neither? She had only said that it was reasonable to have these accusations, not that they were well-founded.

"Interesting," Miroslav said. "We will discuss this further."

The youngest defendant smiled. "I look forward to it," she said shyly.

Lark's reaction was more calm than Miroslav had feared. "There is not a single word of truth in this document, and I refuse to give it legitimacy by engaging with it," he said loudly, as if arguing to an audience. He wrote in handwriting so tiny, it was almost impossible to read.

When Miroslav walked into Thread's cell, he was already holding a pen and immediately began to write. "For a soldier, orders are orders," he said mournfully as he signed with a flourish.

Miroslav wondered if Vance would murder him if he sicced Nurbeko and their books about Thread's predecessor on the former general. The coincidence was simply too amazing - but then again, some things never changed.

Ledge was solving a number puzzle when Miroslav entered, but he tossed the thin paperback book aside when he saw the psychologist. "Is this some kind of bad joke?" he asked, holding up the indictment. "I'm sorry. I simply cannot react any other way to this nonsense. Should I write something else?"

"No, that is fine. I am simply interested in your reaction."

"This will make a nice souvenir," Ledge remarked as he wrote. "You could sell this and buy half the Capitol. Though then you'd be stuck with rebuilding."

Brack was nowhere near as calm. Her eyes were bloodshot and her hands were shaking. "This is preposterous. I was just a deputy. A deputy cannot be held accountable for the actions of their boss."

The civilian version of 'orders are orders'. "Of course not," Miroslav said.

"Then what is this supposed to be?" Brack demanded, waving the indictment in the air. "I had no personal involvement in any of this."

Dijksterhuis smiled when Miroslav walked in. "I never expected lynch justice to take such a long time," she said. "Why are they messing around with trials when it's obvious they care not a fig for justice?"

Miroslav handed her his copy. "I would like to know your opinion."

"To pretty it up, of course. But there's no prettying up of injustice."

Pollman sat on his cot, staring off into space. "I am innocent of these charges," he said in a pleading tone. "I am innocent! How was I supposed to know that it was illegal?"

His writing, however, was more coherent than his speech. 'To accuse us of deeds that had been de facto legal for seventy-five years violates the most elementary legal precepts. How can one raised in a society turned upside-down know which way is truly up?'

Miroslav was beginning to feel very tired, but there were still five more to go, not counting Slice. Toplak was one of the quieter ones, so he tried to pay attention to her.

"I worked in a legitimate capacity," she said. "What is now being called a crime was my job. It does not bode well for society if that kind of transformation is possible."

Kirji spent some time reading what others had said before writing her own reply. She said nothing, handing the document back to Miroslav and retreating to her cot.

'The accusations against me are fabrications, pure and simple. There is no proof of any of them.'

After that silence, Lee's fury was like a slap to the face. "First they accuse me of not having interfered in events I had had neither knowledge over nor the capacity to interfere had I known, then they directly cast aspersions on my professional qualifications, and to cap it off, I am accused of rape! I don't even know which accusation is more absurd!"

Coll had a calculating air about him as he wrote. "This trial is necessary," he said. "Crimes were committed, and they have to be investigated fully. I wish the tribunal luck in their endeavour - sifting through so much history will not be easy."

Was there something between him and Blues? Could they be played off each other, encouraged to go further and further until perhaps even an admission of guilt? That would need some contemplation.

Grass instantly cottoned on to how tired Miroslav was. "I know this must be wearisome for you," she said as she wrote. "For what it's worth, thank you for what you do for us."

"Thank you."

"And as for this charade - to accuse me of unlawful punishments and then cook up this is nothing but hypocrisy."

Miroslav realized that all of them had talked only about themselves, not the charges laid against the others. He would have to write that down.

Once he was out of the cell, he paused the recorder and wondered if he'd have the time to transcribe it now before flying out to pick up Slice. Miroslav checked his watch and realized that the answer to that was 'no'. The hovercraft was taking off in an hour.

Miroslav made his way to the psychiatrists' office, hoping that Jason would be there. Fortunately, the intern was indeed sitting at a desk and staring off into space. "Jason?"

"Yes?"

"Please transcribe my recording for me."

Jason nodded. "Do you need the recorder now?"

"Yes."

"I'll transfer it to the computer, then."

Less than a minute later, Miroslav had his recorder back. He dropped by his office to pick up a book he had been reading recently - a small tome on the aftermaths of dictatorships since the Cataclysm. "You're off to Thirteen?" Mallow asked.

"That I am." Miroslav took his bag from his chair. "I should be back before it's morning."

"Are you going to be free day after tomorrow?"

Miroslav thought about it. "I have to be in court at sixteen-thirty."

"That's fine. I got two tickets to a spa at seven."

Why someone would think anyone wanted to go to a spa at that hour of the morning was beyond Miroslav's understanding. The fact that spas were operating at all was a minor shock - anything could be bought for the right amount of money, but it was still a surprise at times. "Have you ever been to one before?"

"Many times, it's very relaxing. You?"

"No." In Iqaluit, he had been too busy hitting the restaurants and ranting about his work to anyone unable to easily extricate themselves from the conversation, be they a fellow conference attendee, the hotel receptionist, or a random passerby who had made the mistake of asking him 'how are you?.

Mallow took out her phone and looked at it. "It'll be a fun diversion, I hope. Are you leaving now?"

"Yes. I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Same to you."

Miroslav made his way outside and hailed a taxi which took him to the military airport. There, he got onto a transport hovercraft going to Thirteen. As he waited for it to take off, he called his parents and notified them that he would be visiting.

The trip was boring. Miroslav stared out his window and worked on the statement he would be giving the day after tomorrow in court. It was a tricky case - the cycle of abuse was a difficult topic to deal with. When the hovercraft landed, he gratefully closed his laptop and headed off for his parents' compartment. Finally, he'd get to see Biljana. His daughter had probably grown another ten centimetres in the past few weeks.

A/N: For a real-life comparison of population numbers - Nunavut has about 40,000 people (the biggest town, Iqaluit, has less than 8,000) to Ontario's 14,500,000, though Nunavut has a massive area, it's just extremely sparsely populated and none of the towns are connected to the rest of Canada by highway (I'm not quite sure myself why I made 24th-century Iqaluit a university town). So still not quite in the same field as my headcanon of a tiny Twelve in a Panem with the population of 1950s USA, but close enough for plausibility, I hope.

In case I haven't made it clear yet - in my take on Panem English, it is customary to address people who aren't actually related to you as 'aunt' or 'uncle', same as in Russian and some other languages. It's a very informal mode of address, so Antonius was probably knocked more off-kilter by that than by the remarks about his appearance.

The reason Miroslav is amused by Thread's reaction is that 'For a soldier, orders are orders' was what Wilhelm Keitel said when presented with his indictment. As Dr. Nurbeko would say, murderous generals never change.

If you are a fan of the Stormlight Archive series, I have a fic on AO3 for that (I'm quiet_wraith there). It's about a judge very similar to Dora who gains magical powers by not taking bribes. I promise it makes sense in context.